* / SHINE BRIGHT @diamcndskin - Tumblr Blog

diamcndskin; a dependent single muse blog for spacelovehq. adored by kiwi / 25 / they & them.

↻ … filed under: DIAMOND ! inspo / visage / threads

#pinned.#intro.#was gonna include the power section in here but...it was way too long lol

esme rocked back on her heels, the tray of nonsense wobbling dangerously as if it might topple at any second. her grin only widened when she caught that tiny twitch at the corner of lina’s mouth.

“sensible reason?” she repeated, eyes going wide like lina had just asked her to recite advanced quantum mechanics. one of the clones gasped loudly in mock horror, while the other nodded gravely, as if this were the most serious accusation they’d ever heard.

“linaaaaa” all three esme whined, stretching her name into three syllables. esme rushed forward towards her “you wound me. do you really think i’d sabotage dinner? our first dinner? this is just…” she raised the balloon like it was evidence in her defense. it wheezed pitifully. “…ambience. everyone loves a squid centerpiece, right?”

her tone softened, just a little as she shuffled closer, lowering her voice so only lina could hear. “look, i know you want everything perfect tonight. i do too! but perfect doesn’t mean stiff and boring. if people laugh, if they relax, twe will be that much betetr going into the first day. trust me, i’ve got the chaos, i mean fun covered.”

diamcndskin

lina holds her ground as esme advances, though she has to tilt her chin up a fraction when the clones close in too, like a theatrical entourage. it's absurd—salt shakers rattling, balloon wheezing, scarves fluttering—but esme’s sincerity slips in under the racket, brushing past lina’s defenses in the way it always does. she exhales slowly through their nose, the kind of breath meant to disguise the fact that esme's right, at least in part. tension is a fragile thing; it can keep a crew sharp, but it can also break them before they ever leave port. and no one else can get people laughing like esme.

still, someone has to keep the ship from tipping.

“you’re right,” lina admits at last, voice pitched low, steady. their arms unfold, but she doesn't step aside. “we need people to breathe, not choke on nerves.” a pause, and then she angles a look at the balloon, which has deflated into something vaguely squid-like and mostly tragic. “but if your definition of ambience involves property damage, we’re going to have words.”

her gaze catches esme’s, sharp but softened with a flicker of warmth. “so. you want laughter?” she leans in just a fraction, conspiratorial despite herself. “fine. you can set the tone. but you do it without turning my dinner into a salvage yard showcase. deal?” there's no mistaking the underlying truth in her voice: she trusts esme with this, even if she’ll never say it outright.

#thread.#esmerya-kaya #ft. clover

n30nflights

Neon's smirk didn't disappear so much as transform, the cocky curve of his lips thinning into something harder, more defensive. His shoulders hit the backrest with deliberate nonchalance, but the subtle tension in his jaw betrayed him.

"It's the truth," he said, tone dropping to a lower register, his arrogance pared back to something colder. "I've known what the stakes were since the day I first wrapped my hand around a throttle, Captain. Don't mistake me for someone who's forgotten what happens when things go wrong."

They passed him on the way to the viewport, and for a moment he let them have the silence and the stars. He studied her backlit outline against the darkness, tense and heavy with a burden that he could almost feel. It was same one that gnawed at him each time he sat in the pilot's seat, the weight of failure perched on his shoulders and whispered in his ear.

But that was also where they differed. Risk sharpened him, made him bolder. He ran towards it and embraced it with both arms like a partner. Every close call, every brush-with-death maneuver wasn't defiance, it was devotion to the space that thought it could deter him from loving it. And if he was reckless, it was because he'd already learned the cruel fact of the matter: guilt wasn't an emotion dead people could feel. "Blame me for enjoying the job if you like, but it's this insanity that's going to keep us ahead of the Blight if it chases us," Neon said, finally turning his eyes to the viewport. The Supernova sailed smooth and steady through the black, Argos a distant sparkle ahead.

"You don't have to like how I fly," he added, quieter. His thumb brushed the throttle with unconscious tenderness. "You just have to believe I'll get us home."

diamcndskin

lina stands with her palms braced against the lip of the viewport, shoulders drawn tight. the reflection staring back at her in the glass looks every inch the captain: rigid spine, controlled breath, a figure carved from duty. but their pulse is still a live wire under her skin, the echo of his flying thrumming through her like a second heartbeat. she listens to his voice behind her, the arrogance stripped bare until only something raw and honed is left. not swagger, conviction. it's different, and it digs under their guard in ways his taunts never could. you just have to believe i’ll get us home.

her eyes flick shut. for a moment, she lets herself imagine what it would be like if she gives herself permission to trust, to let go of the reins, to let someone else shoulder the weight for once. the thought is terrifying. the thought is intoxicating. when she turns back, the starlight cuts across her features, softening them despite the iron in their posture. “it’s not about liking it,” she says, steady but quiet, the words dragging from somewhere deeper than orders or protocol. “it’s about whether i can afford to trust you when the line between brilliance and recklessness is razor-thin.”

she lets that hang for a beat before stepping closer again, her gaze catching his. “you want me to believe in you? then stop hiding behind the grin and the theatrics. show me the part of you that isn’t trying to outrun ghosts.” her voice dips lower, almost a whisper now, the kind of honesty she rarely lets slip. “because the crew may need your genius. but i-” their breath catches, jaw tightening around the words she doesn't quite want to name, “-i need to know the man we’ve put at the helm won’t burn us all down just to prove he can rise from the wreckage.”

the silence that follows is heavy, but not hostile—an opening, carved sharp and vulnerable between them.

#ft. neon #thread.#n30nflights

stcllans

A thoughtful silence stretches while Stellan considers Lina’s perspective through the muddy terrain of his blurred vision. He turns and leans back against the counter with crossed arms and stares ahead for longer than he’d need if he were sober, but the stability in the posture stops him from swaying. He doesn’t want to bring into question what, precisely, Lina means by “signed up for”. From where Stellan’s standing, it doesn’t seem like the orphans signed up for this like he or Fang did—like the rest of the band did. He’s not in the right mind to articulate any of it, so all he does is level with Lina with a lighthearted smile, slightly pitying in the eyes. He shrugs his drooping shoulders and quietly speaks.

“I think you get to do whatever you want,” if she just lets herself, but Stellan doesn’t continue beyond that primitive—and perhaps selfish—sentiment. He doesn’t want to keep bothering them about it. After all, he’d already made his thoughts known to Maverick, who must’ve known Stellan would be a butt about this during the expedition, but otherwise felt secure enough that his 'almost' children—his maybe children, or whatever they are to him—wouldn’t be easily influenced by his negative opinions.

Stellan breathes out a chuckle and raises a brow, turning to look at them and taking a step away from the counter. “What, you don’t like it?” Sarcasm drips from his voice. He knows the answer; he lets the comment slide off him with another shrug. “Fine, I'll lead by finishing these damn dishes so that we can crash out.” He steps back to the dining table and begins gathering the leftover plates and cups. “I hate touching wet food, by the way.”

diamcndskin

lina watches him shuffle back toward the table, his words still lingering even as he tries to bury them beneath sarcasm and dishware. i think you get to do whatever you want. it echoes in her head with an odd weight: not quite a compliment, not quite a dismissal, but something softer, almost reckless, the kind of thought she would never allow herself.

she lets the silence hold a beat before moving, stepping forward to take the plates from his hands before he can stack them clumsily. “then you shouldn’t have volunteered,” she says, tone dry but not unkind. their fingers brush his briefly in the exchange, cool against the warmth of his unsteady grip. “go sit. you’ll only make it worse for yourself.” it isn’t a command, though it could be mistaken for one. her voice naturally carries that edge, but there’s a flicker of something gentler beneath it, a quiet acknowledgment that she doesn’t expect him to be anyone other than who he already is.

she turns back toward the sink, rinsing the dishes with quick, efficient movements. over their shoulder, she adds, “if you’re trying to prove a point about leadership, this isn’t exactly the gesture that will win me over.” her lips curve faintly at her own words, though she keeps their face angled away so he won’t see. the water rushes steady over the plates, a rhythm to match the low hum of the ship, and for the first time since dinner ended, she feels something close to ease settling between them.

#thread.#ft. atlas #stcllans

n30nflights

Neon's grin was bright and triumphant as he soaked up her reaction like a dying man drinking up water. He let the silence hang for a moment, enjoying the way it amplified his victory.

"Relax, Captain. I've only shaved ten minutes off our ETA to Argos," he said, his voice lazy and satisfied. "Insanity would've cut at least twenty." He ran his tongue over his teeth, the picture of unbothered confidence. Most pilots saw a ship's limits as a wall. Neon saw them as a starting line. Just the thought of chaining gravitational assists from planet to planet like a ping pong ball made his fingers itchy.

But the adrenaline faded fast, leaving a hollowness in its wake. The hum of the engines suddenly sounded too much like the silence that came after the explosion. For a flicker of a moment, he wasn't in the Supernova. He was back in a shattered cockpit, the air thick with the smell of burning metal. His grin stiffened, a shadow brushing across the corners of his eyes. He drew in a long, careful breath, as if it could chase the memory away.

"Thing about these missions is that they don't mean a damn thing if you don't bring the ship home," he said, his voice stripped of its earlier swagger, leaving something quieter in its place. His bionic hand caressed the console it was attached to, his fingers fondling the wires and the ports with a strange, loving tenderness. "Lucky for this crew... I'm real good at making it back."

Neon tipped his head back against his chair, a glint of mischief returning to his eyes as he looked up at them again. The mask of the reckless thrill seeker slid back into place, but the fit wasn't as perfect as before. "Besides, if I screw up from here on out, you won't be around long enough to regret it anyway."

diamcndskin

lina watches him closely. too closely, maybe. long enough to catch the flicker beneath the neon, the split-second fracture in his grin. he wears recklessness like armor, but even armor dents. for all his swagger, she’s seen it: the shadow in his eyes, the way his hand lingers on the console like it's a lifeline instead of a tool. her arms loosen against her chest, falling to their sides as she lets the weight of his words settle. something in her wants to believe him, to let that promise untangle the knot always wound tight inside them. but then comes the smirk, the careless throwaway. the knot pulls tighter again, sharp and unyielding.

“you think that’s funny?” lina asks, voice low, cutting. she steps closer, enough for the light of the console to catch in the steel of their gaze. “that’s not just you out there playing hero or martyr. that’s all of us.” her hand brushes the chair back as she moves past him toward the viewport, needing the stars in their sightline instead of his grin. the longer she looks at him, the less she trusts herself. out there, endless black and glittering light stretch in every direction. it should make them feel small. instead, it reminds her just how much rests in her hands, and how badly part of her wants to let go of the controls, just once, and fall with him.

she exhales, slow and deliberate, before speaking again, quieter now. “don’t make me the bad guy, neon. not tonight.”

#thread.#n30nflights #ft. neon

stcllans

“Propriety is subjective,” Stellan argues through a dusting of exhaled laughter. As if to make a point, his loose tie, which has been barely hanging on around his neck, slides off at the perfect moment. Stellan looks mildly surprised before he bends down to pick it up with a pained groan of exertion. “I may be the only jackass on the ship,” he begins as he throws it around his neck, “but let’s not act like this isn’t a crew of special cases.” He points at the seat that Mercy had been occupying. “I’ve seen her cuss half of us out, and it’s only the first day.”

Though he doesn’t blame Lina for hoping to get more from him. Sure, Stellan is adding more to their plate by getting drunk and... whatnot, but there’s nothing going on at the moment that requires him to lock it in. Stellan is starting to see that this is the most significant difference between them; Lina never turns off, and Stellan is only on when he has no other choice.

He turns Lina’s words over in his head. After a pause, he nods in full agreement. “Yeah, yeah,” he passes a hand through his hair, a motion which makes him sway in place. “So follow mine,” Stellan points towards himself, giving Lina a smile. “You don’t need to be at attention all the time, doing every task you can possibly find,” his tone takes on a gradual lilt. “Listen, Lina, I’m reporting to the Cherish,” he says, “I’m the liaison,” he emphasizes the pronunciation with a drunken slur, “so don't worry about having eyes on you from over there. If you want to take a day off, or just tell everyone to fuck off for a night, or you know, whatever,” he shrugs. “No one here would question you.”

The look Stellan gives her is honest and friendly, and despite the less than ideal promotion of his argument, there’s an undertone of Stellan’s concern for them that makes a vague impression.

diamcndskin

for a moment, lina wonders what he’d look like without the alcohol softening his edges—whether the concern beneath his grin would sharpen into something steadier, or if it would vanish entirely. she studies him, the way his tie hangs uneven, the way his words trip over themselves but somehow still land with intent. her arms fold loosely across their chest, less defensive than deliberate, as if she needs the posture to keep herself from answering too quickly.

“i don’t think that’s how leadership works,” she says at last. the words aren’t cold, but they’re deliberate, and their gaze doesn’t waver. “if i take a day off, someone else pays for it.” she knows he means well (she can feel it in the way he looks at her, even blurred by the sway of his balance), but his kind of freedom is a language they've never learned to speak. “and besides,” she adds, quieter now, almost like they're thinking aloud, “someone is always watching. maybe not the cherish. maybe not maverick. but…” her eyes flick briefly toward the empty chairs around them, the plates waiting to be washed. “them.” their voice steadies again, gentler but certain. “i don’t get to tell them to fuck off. i set the tone. that’s what i signed up for.”

she exhales slowly, letting the hum of the ship fill the silence for a beat before tilting her head toward him. “if you think i should be more like you, though,” her lips curve in the faintest trace of humor, “maybe you should try giving me a better example to follow.”

#thread.#ft. atlas #stcllans

nowadayz

Natasha Liu Bordizzo as Sabine Wren AHSOKA, 1.01

#visage.

n30nflights

Neon grinned like a shark. He saw the challenge in her stance and heard it in their voice. It was like a key turning in a lock he'd forgotten was there. "Trust?" he repeated, spitting the word out like something distasteful. "Trust is wasted on guys like me, but sure. I'll show you why they called me a prodigy."

He settled back into the chair, his posture shifting from a casual slouch to something more symbiotic. It was as if the chair became a part of his spine, his hands moving over the controls with the speed of intuition and the certainty of skill. The Supernova responded instantly, a deep groan shuddering up from the ship's core as the inertia dampeners struggled to compensate for the sudden, violent surge of the engines.

The stars outside the viewport stretched into colourful smears as the ship screamed around them, metal shrieking under stress and the engine snarling at the pressure. Through the viewport, a field of space debris and asteroid fragments loomed before them like a glittering deathtrap.

Neon didn't slow. Instead, he accelerated, plunging them directly into the heart of it. He was a blur of motion, his eyes darting between the chaos outside and the data scrolling across the main screen. The ship rolled onto its side, narrowly avoiding a chunk of rock the size of a fighter craft. The proximity alarms blared frantically.

He felt their presence behind him but he didn't look back. The memory of Hakkun's face flickered like a warning but he didn't feel guilt or grief right then. Only the fuel of adrenaline burning cold and keeping him empty. "For the record, I love consequences," he grunted as he slammed a fist against the throttle, pushing the ship into a dive that seemed to defy physics. "Especially when they're hard and fast."

Just as suddenly as it began, it was over. The Supernova burst through the other side of the debris field into the silent black of open space. The alarms cut out one by one and the engines settled back into a contented purr.

For a moment, Neon just sat there, the tension gradually bleeding out of his shoulders. A small tremor ran through his organic hand, the only outward sign of the adrenaline that had just flooded his system. Slowly, he leaned back and swiveled around to face her again, the movement unhurried and lazy. The razor grin was back, but this time it held a different quality. It wasn't daring or warm, but rather something wild and unguarded, boyish and brilliant. His neon eyes shone brightly in the dim cockpit, seeming to cast their own light.

"Still with me, Captain?"

diamcndskin

her fingers still clutch the edge of the console, knuckles white where she’d braced herself through the gauntlet of shrieking alarms and screaming metal. the world was slow to right itself—their stomach catching up to gravity, her pulse slamming against the cage of her ribs as if it wanted to escape her body and join the starlight beyond the glass. for a few ragged breaths, lina doesn't answer him. she lets the silence drag, lets the ship’s hum be the only sound as she stares past him into the calm expanse of space they had broken into. relief shouldn’t taste like copper and ozone, but it does, sharp and dizzying at the back of their throat.

finally, her eyes cut back to him, the burn of adrenaline still hot and restless under her skin. “barely,” she says, her voice rougher than she means it to be. she straightens, forcing their hands to unclench, forcing her spine back into something resembling command even though their legs still hum from the rush. she should be furious. she should call him reckless, call him out for gambling with more than his own life, lay down the kind of law that the captain should. but instead, the corner of their mouth twitches. it's not quite a smile, not quite surrender, but something that betrays the truth she hates most: she’d loved every second of it.

lina shakes her head, exhaling sharp through their nose. “you’re insane,” she mutters, though the words land closer to admiration than condemnation. her gaze lingers on him a fraction too long, on the tremor in his human hand, on the way his grin had shifted from predator to something far younger, rawer, unguarded. she hates how much that version of him draws her in, how it cracks the armor they've worked so hard to keep sealed. stepping back from the console, lina folds her arms again, as if trying to rebuild the distance she’d just let slip. “don’t make me regret letting you keep the wheel,” she says finally, though her voice is softer, the edge dulled by the echo of their own heartbeat still racing to match his orbit.

#thread.#n30nflights #ft. neon

esmeray-kaya

open starter location: somewhere on the ship, set before dinner

esme’s arms were full. like, dangerously full. two of her clones hovered at her sides, each balancing their own strange load of nonsense. an old traffic cone, a bundle of neon scarves, and what looked suspiciously like a hologram projector missing half its casing. esme herself was juggling an equally bizarre haul. three salt shakers, a half-inflated balloon shaped like a squid, and (don’t ask why) a frying pan.

she tiptoed down the corridor, biting her lip to keep from laughing. the clones mirrored her, though one was already grinning too wide, giving away the game.

dinner was supposed to start soon. the very first dinner before their very first real mission, which meant obviously it had to start with a bang. a little prank, something to lighten the mood, to make sure no one sat down feeling too heavy about what was coming.

esme was just about to duck into the mess hall when…

“…oh. uh.” she froze mid-step, arms wobbling under the ridiculous pile. the frying pan clattered against the balloon with a sad wheeze of escaping air. the clones stopped too, exchanging a quick glance like, busted.

but esme recovered fast. she flashed her brightest grin, eyes sparkling as if she hadn’t just been caught red-handed sneaking contraband chaos into dinner.

“hi there!” she chirped as if the moment were perfectly ordinary. “don’t mind me. just, uh…team-building exercises. totally normal. definitely not suspicious.”

diamcndskin

lina's been making her rounds—half checking on the crew, half trying to quiet the restless hum that has been building in her chest all afternoon. the dinner isn't just a dinner; it's the first step in proving to herself, to the others, to the whole damn fleet that she can lead, that she's more than what the scientists made her to be. she needs things to go smoothly. controlled. predictable. which is why the sight that greets them at the threshold of the mess hall nearly makes her pinch the bridge of her nose on instinct.

esme, arms stacked with the kind of debris scavenged from the bowels of a forgotten storage bay, and two carbon-copy shadows flanking her like accomplices, all frozen mid-scheme. the balloon deflates with a sad hiss, the sound dragging on just long enough to make the silence more unbearable. for one long beat, lina simply looks at her. not with anger (though the muscle in her jaw tenses), but with the weary, measured patience of someone who's lived through this exact scenario a hundred times before in different shapes. esme always trying to turn the world into a circus, lina always stepping in before the tent collapses.

“team-building,” she echoes at last, voice even, clipped, not buying it for a second. her eyes flick over the traffic cone, the scarves, the frying pan, then back to esme’s beaming face. “you’re about thirty seconds from turning dinner into a disaster drill,” lina says, folding her arms across her chest. a captain’s stance, though their gaze softens despite herself.

she sighs, a thread of exasperation twined with something more protective. “esme. tell me you have at least one sensible reason for carrying three salt shakers and a squid balloon into my mess hall.” the corner of their mouth betrays her, threatening the ghost of a smile she tries very hard to suppress.

#thread.#ft. clover #esmeray-kaya

n30nflights

The silence in the cockpit stretched, thin and sharp. Neon didn't grant her the courtesy of a glance, his gaze still lost to the stardust beyond the viewport.

He let them stand there in the doorway, stewing in the words she'd come to say, letting the quiet become a pressure chamber. It was a stillness he cultivated, a weapon he'd learned to wield far better than any blaster. The hum of the ship seemed to amplify in the void he created, each second ticking by as a deliberate act of dismissal. His cybernetic hand-- stripped of its skin and plugged directly into the Supernova's panel-- rested on the console, fingers tracing patterns of light only he could see.

"Yeah? Sounds like you're projecting, Captain," he murmured, voice flat but carrying an edge of challenge. "You can stand there and pretend you came to give me an order but your body is telling a different story. Your pulse is so loud I could use it for a nav beacon and it's telling me you liked the ride."

With a a slow creak of worn leather, the pilot's chair swiveled around. His neon eyes were piercing in the low light of the cockpit, predatory and intense as they finally locked onto theirs. He smirked, mirthless and knowing. "Let's stop pretending this is about the flight plan," he said, his tone dropping low as if were imparting a deep secret. "You didn't come here to put me on a leash. You came here to see if I'd bite the hand that holds it."

Neon leaned back, sprawling deeper into the chair with the casual ease of a king descending upon his throne. He cocked his head, gaze unblinking. It was a dare cast in violet light. "I fly by my own gravity. I carve my own orbit through whatever shit the cosmos throws at us. That's the deal. So you can stand there and try and make a dog out of me, or you can strap in and see exactly why not even death could hold me."

diamcndskin

lina's feet stay rooted, the doorway framing her like a threshold she hasn't quite decided to cross. his words cut closer than she wants to admit. the worst part isn't the arrogance, it's how much of it rings true. she had felt it during the flight, the whip and burn of velocity through her veins, the reckless thrill of his piloting singing in her bones. he wasn’t wrong about her pulse, and the fact he can read it so easily makes their skin prickle.

her arms tighten over their chest, but it feels less like armor and more like restraint. she hates that. she hates the part of her that wants to step closer, to test whether his bite is as dangerous as promised. the hum of the engines fills the pause she lets stretch between them. her eyes flick to the cable fused with his hand, the faint glow of the console lights threading through him as if the ship itself recognizes him. it makes something knot tight in her chest, a reminder of how precarious this all is—not just him, not just her, but everyone sleeping in their bunks depending on her to keep them alive.

“i’m not here to make a dog out of you,” lina says, stepping inside at last, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss. “but if you think i’m going to let you drag this crew into your orbit without consequence, then you don’t know me as well as you seem to think you do.” she stops just short of the pilot’s chair, close enough to catch the reflected starlight in his eyes, far enough to keep herself from being pulled entirely into his gravity. her jaw tightened, but there's a flicker of something else in their gaze. hunger, yes, but laced with restraint so taut it aches.

“show me why i should trust you,” lina says finally, voice dropping into something sharper, daring in its own right. “and maybe i’ll let myself enjoy the ride.”

#would listen to him yap forever #10/10 #thread.#n30nflights #ft. neon

who: lina & neon @n30nflights where: the cockpit when: late at night, after the welcome dinner

the ship's gone quiet in that way it does after the first meal together—half-sated conversation still lingering in the air, half the crew scattering to their bunks, others sneaking off for second rounds of music, smoke, or drink. lina had lingered longer than they should have, waiting until plates were cleared and the hum of the engines was the loudest thing left. she told herself it was to check in on systems, to walk the ship like any captain should on the first night with a full crew aboard, but their boots carried her to the cockpit without permission.

neon's already there, lit by the glow of the control boards. he doesn't seem to sit in the pilot’s chair so much as wear it, limbs folded in a careless sprawl that only look effortless until you notice the micro-adjustments, the subtle way the cybernetics hum against the ship’s systems. a man wired for speed, built for risk. lina leans against the frame of the door for a beat, letting their eyes trace the lines of starlight beyond the viewport. she has to admit: his kind of reckless flying makes her heart hammer in a way that has nothing to do with fear. but that voice in her head, the one that reminds her she's captain now, reminds her that every dive and twist isn't just hers to pay for anymore. it's everyone’s.

she opens their mouth, starts to say something about the flight plan, about crew safety, about… anything that sounds like responsibility. she makes no sound before being cut off.

“whatever you came here to say, i don’t want to hear it.”

her jaw clicks shut. for a moment, she only breathes, a long inhale through their nose as if the recycled air would give her patience. he's infuriating—because she wants to agree with him, to throw caution out the airlock and let him fly them into the teeth of the stars. because she wants, more than anything, to not be the bad guy. instead, she steps forward, the low light catching sharp on her profile as she crossed her arms. “too bad,” she says, voice steady. “sometimes you don’t get what you want.” but even as she says it, lina’s pulse betrays them, quick and restless, as if part of her hopes he'll push back, drag her into the kind of dangerous orbit she's tried so hard to deny herself.

#thread.#ft. neon #n30nflights #kiwi shut the fuck up challenge level impossible

upandbeyond

closed starter for @diamcndskin location: supernova dining area time: morning after the welcome dinner

“Lina, tell me what you’d do if you were me.”

Victor and Lina had decided to grab breakfast together the morning after the welcome meal. To Victor, meeting Lina was the perfect opportunity to see them—to understand who they were as captain of the Supernova Expedition and why they approached it with such bravery (which was already plain to Victor); to know the ins and outs of her communication style; and, perhaps most importantly, to get a read on what she thought they’d be up against. That was what Victor had thought about the entire restless night prior. Argos, and the Blight.

“I feel like I’m making a decent impression on everyone else,” Victor told Lina as he pushed a sausage around his plate. “You know, me being me, which is…well. A lot.

“But I still feel as if I’m not doing something that someone like you would catch instantly.” Or doing something like scheming against fellow crew members on the daily. Victor pushed that truth to the side, though he noted that changing his ways would help people get along with him better. (...As if he ever would.) “I guess I’m less interested in the answer to that, though,” Victor admitted, “than I am intrigued by how you’re intending to get along with everyone. All the time. What’s your big secret to running The Supernova…seamlessly? Because I can already tell,” Victor told them candidly, “that you plan to do this right.” He offered a supportive half-smile.

diamcndskin

lina sets her fork down, the scrape of metal against porcelain barely audible beneath the low morning hum of cherish. she studies victor across the table, his restless energy so obvious it nearly radiates off him in waves, like the guitarist part of him never stops strumming, even without the instrument in hand. it isn't the first time they've noticed it, but sitting this close, she can't miss the way his attention demands an answer and a witness all at once. “you’re assuming there’s a secret,” lina says finally, voice even, though there's no edge in it. if anything, it's thoughtful. “that there’s some way to balance people like pieces on a game board, move them where they’ll all fit neatly and without friction.” she leans back slightly, letting her arms fold over their chest. “but there isn’t. people aren’t predictable. not the crew, not me, not you.”

for a moment, she lets her gaze drift toward the viewport on the far wall, where the faint shimmer of argos’ orbit is only just visible in the artificial daylight. “the truth is,” she continues, quieter now, “i don’t expect it to be seamless. i just expect it to be honest. the crew deserves that much. if i stumble, i’ll say so. if someone doesn’t agree with me, i want to hear it.” her eyes cut back to him, steady, almost challenging in their directness. “what i need is for you—all of you—to be more than just passengers following orders. if this crew is going to survive, it won’t be because i played captain flawlessly. it’ll be because we acted like something closer to a family than a collection of strangers. that’s what i’d do if i were you.”

lina allows a beat of silence, then reaches for their mug, the warmth of coffee grounding her fingers. “as for impressions,” she adds, a faint curve tugging at her mouth though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, “you don’t need to worry. people notice you, victor. that part’s never going to be the problem.” she leaves the last part hanging there, deliberately unfinished, inviting him to decide whether being noticed is the same as being understood.

#ft. loop #thread.#upandbeyond

stcllans

Stellan places his pile next to hers before leaning against the counter with arms crossed. He feels an itch to reach for a cigarette, but he gave them to Fang to hide from him until they reach Argos. He’s not shameless enough to smoke inside the ship, despite treating his personal vessel like an ashtray. Stellan starts tapping his fingers on his forearm while he nods at her measured answer. It figures; they’ve only just started. This part of the mission is always the calm before the storm. In just one month, today will feel like forever ago.

“Well, enjoy this feeling while you can,” he says. “You’re going to miss just being a glorified babysitter.” There’s a different edge to his tone in spite of the faint slur at the end of his words. Not sarcasm, just vague detachment and the quiet severity of an oracle who has seen the end of their world. It’s only there for a moment before the edge is gone from his face altogether. Stellan meets their brief glance before he shrugs. Criticism of his drinking habits no longer fazes him. Lina’s question seems less like she’s chiding him and more like she’s trying to figure out what to expect, but Stellan defaults to one mode when his proclivity toward drunkenness is brought up.

“I wish. Do you know how great that would be?” He exhales as his lips curve into a smile. “But no, I’m not always—you know—whatever. During downtime, who cares.” He shrugs. “Anyway, don’t you all have your…” Stellan motions vaguely toward them, “things?” He awaits a response proudly, feeling like he made a good argument for himself despite being nearly incomprehensible.

diamcndskin

lina tilts their head just slightly at his half-formed gesture, the corner of her mouth twitching as if she might let herself smile but never quite does. things. it’s vague enough to mean anything, dismissive enough to mean nothing at all. she dries her hands against the dish towel, folds it neatly on the counter, and gives him the steadiness he lacks.

“our things?” she repeats, tone level, almost patient. “if you mean our powers, then yes. we all have them.” her eyes hold his a beat longer, sharper now, though not unkind. “but i don’t think being able to heal quickly or create clones of ourselves excuses us from carrying ourselves properly.” she doesn’t say it to sting him, though she suspects he’ll hear it that way. to her, it’s just fact—discipline and duty drilled into her so deeply that it threads through every word, every decision. maverick taught her that control wasn’t just survival, it was respect: respect for the crew, for the mission, for the worlds that depend on them. and maybe, for people like stellan, who didn’t seem to care whether or not they made it to tomorrow.

“downtime or otherwise,” she adds, more gently this time, “we set examples. whether we like it or not.” their hands flatten against the counter as if to ground herself, the hum of the ship vibrating faintly beneath her palms. she doesn’t look away from him yet, though, waiting—curious if he’ll brush it off again or if something beneath the slur and bravado might actually answer her.

#thread.#ft. atlas #stcllans

stcllans

CLOSED STARTER ― @diamcndskin.

Stellan’s been pulling out his flask and pouring shots into his cup over the course of dinner, and by the time everyone’s done eating and most have retired to their quarters, he’s hunched over, nearly falling asleep where he sits. Lina’s been across from him at the head of the table, and as he watches her get up and start gathering the plates closest to her, he sighs and drags himself up to do the same. They clean up in silence for minutes; clinking cutlery and the faint sound of the dishwasher being loaded after Crush ducks back into the kitchen are the only sounds that accompany them.

“I got it,” he says when they both go to pick up a bowl, finally breaking the silence. He adds it to his pile, and through a drunken whim, attempts to make conversation. It’s nearly ruined by the sarcastic tone his words take on. “So, how’s your first day of being a captain?”

diamcndskin

lina doesn’t answer right away. her hands are still damp from rinsing, sleeves pushed to their elbows, and she keeps her focus on the plates stacked in front of her as if the question requires a degree of thought she isn’t sure she wants to give. stellan’s tone has a bite to it, even dulled by drink, but they've learned not to rise to the sharp edges he tosses into conversation. instead, she sets the plate down with deliberate care, wipes their palms against a dish towel, and finally lifts her eyes to him. his posture is loose, careless, the kind of ease that comes either from confidence or complete disinterest. with him, it’s hard to tell.

“it feels less like being captain,” she says evenly, her voice soft enough to keep the words from sounding like a challenge, “and more like making sure no one forgets to eat, or sleep, or keep the ship from falling apart.” a pause, not heavy but thoughtful, and they add, “not exactly how mr. maverick described it.” she allows herself a small, almost imperceptible smile—meant more for herself than for him—before returning to the task at hand, stacking utensils carefully into the bin.

their gaze flicks sideways once more, just long enough to catch the faint glaze in his eyes, before she asks, quiet but pointed, “will it always be like this?” the question isn’t accusatory, but there’s curiosity in it, genuine and restrained, the kind that lingers between them waiting for him to decide whether or not he wants to fill the silence.

#thread.#stcllans #ft. atlas

jay-dee

#visage.

kristina100000

i am extremely analytical and everything needs to be explained… hate living in the unknown bitch i have to know everything or i will fall into a coma

#inspo.

gavfree

#inspo.

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